They looked at one another, amazed. This thing they had never really believed in was coming true.
John Steinbeck, Of Mice and Men
One summer, as a very young boy, and hanging about the landscaping business owned by my uncle, I heard that one of his employees, a big, burly, gentle and quiet man named John Henry, had a “pet mouse” in one of the trucks. This was a Ford International, army green, and well-worn from use. It was the oldest of my uncle’s work vehicles, and looked the part. Inside the cabin, the seats were torn, the dashboard was cracked, the floor resembled a sieve, and the air smelled like soil, sweat and cigarettes. Still, I loved that truck, and curious about the mouse, and whenever I had a chance alone, I would open a door, climb inside, and hunt around to see if I could find the little creature or identify where it might be hiding.
But I never once saw the mouse, or found any evidence to indicate it existed. This made the story even more intriguing and fanciful to my young mind, almost as if I was connected to an ongoing fairy tale. I fantasized that John Henry had special powers, but only when in the truck, where his gifts included being able to roll his own cigarettes with one hand, steer with the other, and conjure up his tiny friend through a puff and plume of tobacco fumes. I envisioned the mouse popping out from under a loose floorboard or a hole in the dash, climbing up onto John Henry’s massive shoulder and speaking into his ear as he drove and smoked, telling jokes and stories until it was time again to disappear, like magic, into the cloudy, choked air.
I miss that mindset of a child, not the ability to imagine the fantastic, that has not left me after all these years, but not knowing that the fantastic is imagined. Of course, as we age, it is normal and natural to better understand what is real and what is contrived, what is make believe and what is to be believed.
But in losing the innocence of ignorance, for lack of a better description, we assume, as adults, the responsibility of knowledge. With experience as a guide, and survival as motivation, it is our job to set anchors into reality – to keep things steady, solid and sustainable, in part so the youngest in our society can enjoy a foundation to dream, to fantasize, to have fun without the burden or tether of adult responsibility.
Providing this platform for our children is not only the right thing to do, it is essential for their healthy maturation and future success. Jason Kurtz, a leading psychoanalyst in New York City, an award-winning playwright, and the author of the memoir “Follow The Joy,” expounds on this idea:
“Children learn through play. They play with scenarios that are realistic and those that are fantastic. They pretend to be doctors and soldiers, both the good guys and the bad. They do this so they can explore different identities and different feeling states. Because, in the end, no one is all good or bad. We have to get in touch with all the various aspects of ourselves, both our lightness and our darkness, in order to truly be comfortable and secure in who we are. Having a safe space to explore both what is encouraged and what is forbidden is an essential component of true self knowledge and healthy growth.”
For parents, for all adults, and particularly as we just celebrated Father’s Day, the challenge is to create this “safe space” for our children – to provide them with the precious opportunity to be children, while not letting the responsibility that makes this outcome possible become overwhelming. It is a balancing act, not easy by any stretch of the imagination, and demands the very best from us to achieve. But we are all in this together, and the rewards of giving this gift of our responsibility to our children is life-affirming and limitless.
Now it’s time for me to get off my soapbox and go look for the mouse I swear I heard scuttling about in my study.
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